


Eames' Fucking Ace Plan or How Eames Finally Conned Arthur into Sleeping With Him

by tourdefierce



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Crack, Explicit Language, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-06
Updated: 2012-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-29 01:37:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tourdefierce/pseuds/tourdefierce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames has feelings, there is a Five Step Plan (where Eames is awesome) and Arthur just fucking rolls with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eames' Fucking Ace Plan or How Eames Finally Conned Arthur into Sleeping With Him

**Author's Note:**

> There is some casual treatment of sexual harassment and stalking (both of which are serious business in real-life, ok?).
> 
> This was written for fakebody.
> 
> Originally posted at LJ: January 10th, 2011.

The first thing that Eames learns about Arthur, other than the obvious badassery and hotass-ness, is that Arthur likes suits. Sure, it's not the most grandiose observation but it's a useful one. On a psychological level, it means a lot of things. First, it shows that Arthur knows how to play people to his advantage and that since he's probably always been small, and Eames knows for a fact that Arthur has been in this business longer than most (maybe all of them), it is easy to conclude that dressing like _an adult_ means that at once point, Arthur might not have been _exactly_ an adult. Secondly, all those careful suits means control, which isn't a surprise, since Arthur is a pointman and control, information, and useful stalker techniques are what makes a good pointman. It's not just the ability to control things that makes Arthur a great pointman but the need to control things, because if a pointman _needed_ control, he was going to do his job bloody well in order to get it. Thirdly, the suits were expensive and that meant that Arthur saw them as a necessary part of him or he wouldn't spend money on it. Sure, Arthur's probably richer than anyone Eames knows (other than Saito) but Arthur's also _practical_. He's the kind of guy who would drink a cheaper glass of wine if he liked the taste, even if he had enough money to buy the entire bottle of the expensive stuff.

But the suits don't always just reveal psychological layers. They also reveal fun things too. Eames likes to think that the suits mean that Arthur might be a slag in bed, a taste for control and fine material wrapped around his body. The predictability of the suits implies that Arthur's a bit of a stick-in-the-mud but Eames recognizes that the suits also provide cover for all the weaponry Arthur has on his person all the time. (There is a rumor that it's never less than five pieces. Eames thinks that's bullshit. Arthur would never carry less than eight.) Eames also thinks that the suits lend a few points to the non-heterosexual column of the board, but that might just be wishful thinking.

Like he always says, homogay until proven straight.

<3<3<3

Yusuf is setting the warehouse on fire. Eames? Well, he's not complaining because it's going to be a creative way to start a fire and Yusuf is the only one who ever listens to Eames talk strategy... about Arthur that is.

"I've been thinking," Eames says as he tilts back in Arthur's chair (he always claims a chair on the first day of a job and never strays from that one and it's because he gets used to the balance of the first one he sits on and then he doesn't have to worry about tipping back on his arse—never let it be said that Eames is bad at his job).

"Smoke is usually a shit sign," Yusuf replies unhelpfully, squinting at the smoking test tube before he shrugs and just carries on.

"I've achieved Step One on my five year plan," Eames continues.

"You've known Arthur for five years?"

"Technically only four but I did meet his projection before I met him, come on there, Yusuf, do keep up," Eames chastises. Yusuf looks at him before putting on a gas mask.

"What was Step One?"

At least, that's what Eames assumes Yusuf says because his voice is muddled by the gas mask.

"Step One, mate, was annoy the fuck out of him."

Yusuf gives him a thumbs up.

"Now, to achieve Step Two, I need to think like my mark," Eames says, watching as Yusuf _fumbles with a blow torch_ and sets half the table on fire. He casually hands the chemist a fire extinguisher by his feet. "What does Arthur like?"

Yusuf sticks his pointer-finger out and wiggles his thumb. Eames shrugs and says, "Guns are too personal. Too soon."

Yusuf mines slitting his throat. Eames nods his head thoughtfully. "Well, yes. I suppose Arthur does loving ruthless killing but I feel like if I killed for him, he'd think I was calling him incompetent."

Seconds tick by, Eames watches Yusuf mix a few chemicals and he thinks, letting the thoughts roll around in his head as he continues rhythmically tipping his chair back and then forward to the ground.

And then the lightbulb comes on.

Or it could have been the fact that whatever chemicals Yusuf is using, blows the fuck up.

<3<3<3

Saito doesn't yell when he has to buy another warehouse for them. But he does ban Eames from hanging about Yusuf while he's experimenting because apparently, Eames' wooing technique is _distracting_. He would bloody hell hope so.

But it's neither here nor there because Eames has sussed it out.

Everyone has a tell. It's Eames job to figure out what a mark's tell is, emotionally or economically or physically, and to exploit that. Most of the time, it's relationships—like Fisher and his father—or it's sexual because it lures the mark into their comfort zone so that when an extractor swoops in, the mark is left blissfully unawares.

Eames, being brilliant and dashing, has just puzzled out Arthur's tell and he's not a good enough person not to use it against him.

Love (which is Step Four in case anyone is wondering), as Eames' mother used to say, always approves of playing dirty.

<3<3<3

  


Several things play out in Eames' favor.
  
    **1.** The mark (the real one, not Arthur) has a tell that is easy to work with, it's their employer. So this means that Eames needs to meet with their employer, which means no lying, just a casual business lunch.  
 **2.** _Business lunch_ is the key phrase here. That means he has to look professional and that means? Well, that means Eames needs to wear a suit.  
 **3.** Eames is ace at his job (and at being ace in general).
  


He's been stalking Arthur like a pro since he met Nash's projection of Arthur. There was something so cold about him that intrigued Eames and inspired him to get a little better at his stalking game. This means that Eames has all the information he needs to pick out three suits that will help Eames move seamlessly from Stage Two (the tell phase) to Stage Three (the sex phase).

(Step Four, as previously mentioned is Get the Git to Fall For Me and Step Five is, Legally Attach His Fine Arse to Me.)

Now, all he needs is a set-up. Once again, the fates aline because Eames truly is a lucky man.

He's fresh out of the shower when a crisp knock, a perfectly metered three raps, interrupts his thinking. (He obviously thinks best naked.) He slips his discarded towel around his waist and goes to the door because getting dressed would mean taking time and Arthur does not like to be kept waiting.

"Arthur, darling," he says when he swings the door open.

Arthur arches a perfectly plucked eyebrow and says, "Mr. Eames", with a curt nod.

"And what do I owe this pleasure? Because let me say, Arthur, this certainly is a pleasure—you're looking positively scrumptious."

The vein in his forehead only bulges a bit and Eames counts it as a victory, especially when the next words out of Arthur's mouth are, "May I come in?"

"You have my express permission to come wherever you please," Eames says smoothly, opening the door a little wider and stepping aside, giving Arthur a wide berth to make his entrance. (Sexual harassment is all about little doses. Make a lewd joke but no physical contact. Be completely profession, no pet names or thinly veiled propositions, and you can get a little physical.)

Eames closes the door and turns around to find Arthur pouring himself a drink and siting in the terribly uncomfortable lounge chair that sits in the hotel room.

"Please," Eames says with only a hint of irritation, as he crosses the room to the small closet, "make yourself comfortable."

"Walk me through your meeting with the Mark."

Eames turns from the door, briefly eyeing the closet that encases his recently purchased suits. Arthur is ramrod straight in the chair but his shoulders are relaxed enough for a small bead of hope to form and that is all Eames needs before he's pulling out all three suits and laying them out on the bed.

There is no such thing as a perfectly planned scenario. A real job must be fluid—it must roll with the punches and take the opportunities when they come—like now, as Arthur gives him the absolute perfect set up.

"What would you like to know?"

Eames takes enough time stroking the suits for it to be a bit much but Arthur continues to eye him from his perch in the corner. Eames shuffles around before picking a lovely English suit that compliments his hair and brings out his London need for patterned tartan, even if it is _brown_. Arthur watches him.

"I just want to make sure you're not going to do anything stupid," Arthur says but it's completely lacking heat. Eames raises an eyebrow at that, but doesn't turn toward him. He puts the other two suits in the closet and walks to his suitcase, drawing out a pair of dark brown briefs that (seriously) match the suit's more subtler tones.

"We're just going for a chat, darling," Eames says as he drops his towel and tugs on the briefs without much fanfare. Arthur scoffs behind him but neither of them are sure if it's because of Eames' words or his naked backside. Eames it betting on the former because his arse is nothing to scoff about. "No need to get your knickers in a twist, I'm just going to observe."

Next, Eames pulls out similarly matched socks and tugs them onto his feet as he sits on the bed. He doesn't imagine Arthur leaning forward or that adorable wrinkle to appear on his forehead—it's all very, very real.

Eames looks up to catch Arthur's eye. Arthur blinks, twice, before leaning backwards and taking a swallow of his bourbon—which, for the record, is slow and deliberately sexy—then Eames breaks the eye contract and reaches for the shirt behind him. It's a slightly darker cream and still dreadfully boring. The shirt goes on swiftly, Eames making quick work of the buttons, before reaching for his trousers and braces. Eames doesn't fancy braces as much as Arthur does. In fact, he's never seen Arthur wearing a belt in his life. Probably due to the fact that the way the braces pull at Arthur's trousers makes his arse look divine. (Eames would know, he's practically written volumes of poetry on that arse—professionally speaking.)

"Where are you taking him?" Arthur voice cuts into Eames' thoughts and he shrugs, carefully cataloging the flush on Arthur's cheeks as Eames leans down to attach the back of the braces to the back of the trousers on the bed. His hands tremble but it's barely noticeable and _all Arthur's fault_ because the pitch of his voice has altered and it's such a dreadful turn on.

"I'll let him choose the venue," Eames says, as he pulls on the trousers, making sure to keep hold of the braces so he doesn't have to flail to get him. As he attaches the front two braces to their respective buttons, Arthur finishes his drink in one very large swallow. "Wherever he's comfortable, he'll act more natural," Eames continues, looking up to catch Arthur's intense gaze as he does up the front of his trouser zip and button.

Arthur licks his lips. Eames turns away to gather the waistcoat.

Usually, if Eames is going to bother with suits, he likes his waistcoat to contrast dramatically with his suit jacket but this one does not, it matches exactly and even bothers to line up the patterns. He slips it on without fanfare, doing up the buttons with care and then going for a red tie. It's not bright red, but it's deep and certainly screams 'capable' if not _'presidential'_. (The tie certainly doesn't scream 'Prime Bloody Minister' because Arthur would absolutely hate that.)

He ties the double Windsor in seven seconds and wills himself to ignore the way Arthur literally adjusts himself in the seat, like he has no shame and oh my, now isn't that just a lovely surprise. Eames feels the flush on his cheeks as he settles his tie underneath his waistcoat and finally slips into the suit jacket, the line of his cock pressing to the front of his tailored trousers.

The fit is perfect, hugging his shoulders and making him look large and useful. His father was a rather stocky bloke and every time Arthur eyes his shoulders, Eames thanks his beautiful mother for falling for his father's lips and not written his father off for his physical short comings.

Eames brushes off an invisible speck of lint from his shoulder and pounders aloud, "I wonder where my pocket square has gotten to?"

The gasp from Arthur's corner of the room is barely audible but it shoots straight to Eames' cock. He locates the pocket square, a matching red but with subtle cream paisley, and folds it in two seconds. He slips it into his breast pocket, adjusting it slightly before making eye-contact with Arthur, who is practically salivating and Eames can hardly control himself.

He picks up the cufflinks from the bureau, letting them clink together in his palm as he walks over to Arthur. Eames keeps eye-contact as he invades Arthur's space, but doesn't touch him, just looms over him and licks his lips.

"Give me a hand, pet?" He lifts his hand further into Arthur's personal space, lowers his voice and the silver cufflink catches the light just right.

Arthur tackles him to the ground in a military maneuver that is sure to give Eames back spasms for the coming weeks but he can't find it within himself to care because Arthur's grinding his cock (oh and what a glorious cock it is) against Eames and cursing at him between truly malicious kisses.

"Motherfucking asshole," Arthur flings against his neck, biting down just above the collar of Eames' shirt. Eames watches the cufflinks roll underneath the bed and he gropes Arthur's arse generously.

"You say the nicest things," Eames murmurs when Arthur bites down and sucks hard enough to pull a moan right out of Eames' throat, causing him to tangle his hands in Arthur's hair in reflex.

Arthur punches him in the solar plexus.

But then he's pulling at Eames' trouser zip while Eames is gasping for breath and deftly takes out Eames' cock to suck it down that lovely and _capable_ mouth. (Eames is 99% sure Arthur is spelling out son-of-a-bitch with his tongue but that's okay because meeting Eames' mum is part of Step Four and he's sure that Mummy will forgive Arthur for being so judgmental before tasting her biscuits.)

Later, when Eames is convincing Arthur to stay the night (which, is exactly as impossible as you might think) he'll think that he deserves an award for being so epically good at his job. When he's finally wrangled Arthur between the sheets and inching his hand over to cuddle with Arthur's belly, he'll realize that all the coming stages in his plan are going to be so much more interesting than Stage One ever was.

Competency as a tell? Well, maybe Arthur's not that unimaginative at all and that, well that bodes well for the rest of Eames' exploration.


End file.
